


Anyone But You

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol addiction substance abuse, Blood, Death, Depression, Drugging, F/M, Fighting, Gore, Injury, Manipulation, Relapse, Restraint, Self-Harm, Sex without Protection, Sexual Abuse, Smut, death. Some dub-con, non-con elements, sexual abuse. Very dark Soulless!Sam.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 12:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11897565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: Set after S5 - Sam’s dead, Dean never went to Lisa. Him and Y/N continue hunting, but they’re both falling apart, and sooner or later… bad things always happen. Written for SPN Kink Bingo.Space Filled: Free Space





	Anyone But You

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very dark fiction, please heed the warnings.

 

Fingers brushed against the empty whiskey bottle next to the bed, and Y/N shifted, grunting in her sleep. A pounding headache greeted her as she dragged herself into wakefulness, and she fumbled for the bottle of Tylenol on the bedside stand. Her clumsy hand sent it tumbling to the floor, the hollow echo of its landing indicating that there were no pills left.

Dean groaned, his elbow colliding with her spine as he rolled over, and Y/N swore, pushing back against him. The noise of protest he made was followed by a muffled yelp as she dumped a pillow on his head and dragged herself away from the warm covers, limping to the bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door.

As she sat on the toilet, Y/N inspected the damage to her leg from the hunt the night before. The ghoul had gotten in a good shot, tearing through skin and muscle on her thigh - but it was nothing that alcohol hadn’t been able to dull. She’d been drunk enough to ride Dean until he was almost unconscious, so it couldn’t have been too bad. In the light of day, and her hangover, however, the injury seemed a little more serious. Blood stained her skin where she’d torn it during her vigorous activities, and she hissed as her fingers found the flesh tender and swollen.

“That’s not looking good,” Dean commented, lounging naked against the doorframe. His eyes were almost sunken in his skull, the dullness of his pale skin all too visible in the fluorescent bathroom light. Y/N scowled at him, cleaning herself up before standing, uncaring of her nudity as she turned the shower on. Dean simply watched, his arms folded over his chest as she climbed in under the hot spray, cursing under her breath as the water washed over her wound.

She didn’t protest when he climbed in behind her, his hands taking the soap and washing away the dirt from her skin. The remnants of the hunt covered them both, and she allowed herself to relax in his hold for just a second, concentrating on the soft glide of body wash over her skin. Dean bent down, dropping to his knees to inspect her injury, and she turned, keeping her eyes on him as he checked it over.

“You’re gonna need stitches,” he murmured, his fingers caressing the inside of her thigh as he leaned in. “I can take care of it.”

“You always do,” she whispered, closing her eyes as Dean pressed his lips to her skin, kissing a path up to the juncture of her legs. Y/N parted them, letting Dean guide her back against the wall, the pain of the wound melting away as his mouth covered her slick folds, still coated in the taste of him.

It was their way. They fought, they fucked, they hunted. Everything centered around those three things. It had been been that way since Sam died, and it didn’t look like anything would change. She was Dean’s crutch, and he was her only link to a life long forgotten. Maybe they’d both be dead without each other; it was a thought they didn’t entertain, despite the recklessness they both danced around on every hunt.

Her climax hit her with enough force to have her body trembling, and Dean caught her in his arms, lowering her into his lap as he knelt in the shower. He didn’t give her a chance to breath, seizing her mouth in a heated and demanding kiss, his hands clutching at her tightly. The second she lowered herself onto his thick cock, he dragged back, gasping for his own breath.

It was quick, and messy, and neither of them waited to reach their own satisfaction. When they were done, they remained huddled on the floor in the shower, letting the water cascade over them. Dean pulled away first, offering her his hand in aide.

There were no words as they cleaned themselves, stealing kisses in between rinsing, before climbing from the stall. Y/N grabbed her clothes, but Dean’s hands were quick to take hold of her arms, the look on his face brokering no argument. A few moments later, she was reclining on the bed, a fresh bottle of whiskey in her hand as Dean threaded a needle through the injury on her thigh. 

He let her sleep in the backseat as they drove across the state to a fresh case he’d picked up in Illinois. There was no comment on the pills she swallowed down before leaving the motel room, but he knew they were nothing good. It was a train of thought that Dean ignored - he had no right to comment on her choices when his own were far from stellar.

Driving during the day meant other cars on the road, and Dean eventually pulled off onto the side roads, avoiding people like he’d done for months on end. It was better to go unnoticed, especially when it was likely he’d get pulled for drink driving; his blood was more percentage than hemoglobin these days.

Around midday, on a long stretch of road through a national forest, Y/N stretched and stirred, rolling over on the backseat. Dean watched her in the rearview mirror, an absent smile on his face as he guided the car towards a picnic area, which was, thankfully, void of people. As he switched off the ignition, Y/N pulled herself up, giving him a sleepy smile before climbing out of the car.

She darted off into the woods as Dean lifted himself out of the driver’s seat and arched his back, working out the kinks from hours of driving. The sky was overcast, and it felt like he hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. The trees rustled as Y/N emerged, buckling her belt up as she limped towards him. Her eyes locked with his, and he couldn’t help but smile a little more.

He had her. It was enough.

“Hungry?” he asked, and she nodded, moving around towards the trunk of the Impala, and Dean popped it open, plucking out the bag of Walmart snacks they’d grabbed in the last town they were in. Surviving on a diet of cheetos and beer probably wasn’t doing them any good, and neither of them remembered the last time either of them ate a meal that wasn’t soaked in grease or so filled with carbs it was probably clogging their arteries.

Birds chirped as they both took a seat on a rickety old bench in the picnic area, and Dean pulled out his phone, checking over the details for the case that Bobby had emailed him. The old man had pleaded with him to head back to South Dakota for a few days, but Dean knew that would bring condemnation of the way they’d started living, the unhealthiness of whatever it was between them.

“So, what we got?” Y/N asked, and Dean looked up, reaching over to wipe a crumb from her lip. She smiled, ducking her eyes, and he tried to pretend he hadn’t seen the pinpoint of her irises. Apparently, having a pee in the woods wasn’t the only thing she immediately did when she got out of the car.

“Spirit. The usual. Angry dead guy attacking young women.” He showed her the photo of the most recent victim and she grimaced at it. “Three vics so far. Nothing on the spirit’s ID. Gonna have to scout it out when we get there.”

Y/N nodded, sipping at the bottle of water she’d snagged from the trunk. Dean watched her, his eyes focused on the way her lips curved around the neck of the bottle, and his pants tightened uncomfortably. She noticed the way he was staring, a sly smile tugging her lips upwards. “You okay there, slugger?”

He growled under his breath, leaning across the bench to pull her closer. “I’m always okay when you’re here,” he muttered, nipping at her jaw and the bottle of water found a spot on the floor. Dean’s hands lifted the hem of her shirt, his impatience to have her naked getting the better of him.

It wasn’t exactly a private area, and anyone could have walked into the clearing, seeing her half naked, pushed over the bench with her pants around her knees, Dean’s slung in much the same fashion as he drove into her over and over, making her scream loud enough to disturb the birdlife around them. Y/N’s fingers clung to the wood of the bench, her nails digging in painfully as she cried for more, for harder, for him to come inside her.

Dean obliged, fucking her hard enough to split the stitches on her thigh, and by the time he came with a gratifying roar, there were fresh rivulets of blood skimming down her skin. A flash of concern overtook his post-climactic bliss, and he bent, only for Y/N to push his hands away.

“I’m fine,” she snarled, and he stepped back away from her, pulling his pants up. Her face twisted in pain as she dragged her own pants up, blood quickly seeping through the thick denim. “Let’s go.”

“Y/N -” 

Her eyes were blazing as she looked at him, but she was swaying and unsteady on her feet. “I’m fine,” she repeated, her words a little slurred. Dean help his hands up in surrender, but he kept close to her all the way back to the car. He didn’t say anything as she grabbed a half-full bottle of vodka from her duffel, and positioned herself in the front seat.

By the time the Impala crossed the border to Illinois, she was out cold, either from blood loss or alcohol. Dean found a motel on the outskirts of the town the case was in, and carried her in from the car, laying her on the bed gently as not to wake her. When he was satisfied she was still breathing, he left, finding the nearest liquor store and indulging in his own weakness.

When he returned, Y/N was awake, and stood at the door, looking guilty as sin. Her face was drawn, her skin ashen, and her jeans were still coated thick with congealed blood.

“You gonna let me look at that now?” Dean asked, lowering his voice. She narrowed her eyes at him, turning her back to walk away. “Y/N -”

“I’m fine.”

He sighed, shaking his head, slamming the door behind him. “There’s only so many times you can say that and convince me,” he snapped, pulling a bottle out of the bag of liquor. He hadn’t had a drink since last night, and he felt like his head was going to explode. “You’re a fucking liar.”

“Because you’re a paragon of virtue,” she returned. 

“You don’t see me popping pills, sweetheart,” Dean snarled, and promptly ducked as Y/N threw the television remote at him. It hit the side, smashing into pieces, and he laughed. “With an aim like that, it’s a wonder you’re not dead already.”

The frustrated screech she let loose echoed in the room, followed by the slam of the bathroom door. Dean itched to follow her, to keep fighting, to keep the adrenaline pumping through his system, but he knew if he walked in there, he was going to be confronted by the truth of what they were.

An ugly mess.

Toxic.

Broken.

Instead, he twisted the lid off of the whiskey bottle, and chugged it back, losing himself and the pain he was carrying.

*****

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that his pants were around his ankles, and his cock was buried in soft, warm heat. With a grunt, he forced his eyes open, seeing Y/N on top of him, her hips undulating as she took what she wanted. Her eyes were closed and her head thrown back in pleasure, and Dean shifted, gripping her hips, forgetting about the wound on her leg.

“You know, consent is a thing,” he drawled, and she dropped her chin into her chest, staring at him.

“I didn’t think you’d mind,” she whispered, dragging a fingernail down his chest. Dean wasn’t stupid - he could see the fresh marks on her belly, on her biceps. Whatever she’d done while he’d been passed out drunk, she’d done more damage to herself. It made him hate himself, but at the same time, made him hate her too. “If it makes you feel better, I’d rather be fucking anyone but you.”

Anger exploded in his chest, and he flipped her, making her holler in pain as his body crushed hers into the bed. “You’re not some fucking whore, Y/N.”

There were tears in her eyes, but she kept her face schooled in anger and contempt. “I was just taking what you give me anyway. Why should I ask permission?”

Dean’s eyes focused on hers, sobriety hitting him like a ton of bricks as the memories of his time in hell came flooding back to him. He’d never gotten a choice then, and he hadn’t been given a choice now. She’d never gone this far before. “What did you take?” he demanded, trying not to react to the squirming of her body around his, the hot, wet heat of her pussy grinding against his cock.

“Nothing,” she squeaked, fighting against his hold, even as his fingers crept up around her throat.

“What,” he repeated, gritting his teeth, “did you take?”

Y/N gasped, instinctively spreading her thighs at his rough touch, and Dean couldn’t help himself. His cock was so close to her, and she was so warm against him. If he just shifted his hips a little to the left -

She cried out as he fucked back into her, his fingers only getting tighter around her throat, preventing her from answering her question. Dean lost himself in her touch, in her fluttering walls surrounding him, and within seconds, he was coming inside her, not stopping until the ebb of arousal had finally left him.

Her tears rocked him back into himself, and he sprang up, horrified at his actions. Y/N rolled onto her side, thighs coated in blood and come, her arms surrounding her own body as she closed her eyes. “Y/N -” he started, unsure what to say or do, how to respond to his behavior.

“Dean.” Her tiny voice hit him like a shot to the heart, and he crawled into the bed beside her, not caring about the slick of blood on her skin that quickly transferred to his. Her fingers clutching at him, and before long, she fell into a restless sleep, one that had her body trembling with the demons in her head that Dean couldn’t possibly fight.

The injury on her leg was bad. Dean inspected it as she slept, wondering if he could sew it up without her noticing. She’d been pretty wasted, on whatever it was she’d taken, and Dean wished she’d just tell him the truth. He never thought anyone would spiral downwards as much as he would, but here he was, losing his gold medal.

“Wish you’d tell me,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple, not sure if he was talking about the drugs, the drink, or why she was like this. The sheets were stained underneath them, and he thought it was probably a good thing they’d checked in under false names with a fake credit card, or someone might call the police when they found this room the next day.

Dean dragged himself from the bed, careful not to wake her. Picking up her duffel bag, he went through it, finding bottles, empty and full alike, with prescription names on them. Antidepressants, painkillers, sleeping tablets - there was a mixed selection. A small bag of white powder was nestled in one of the pockets, and he knew without opening it that it was cocaine.

“Fuck,” he hissed, sitting at the small kitchenette table, replacing everything back in the bag. It made him think about how little he really knew her - she’d been in his life for just over two years, coming to his and Sam’s assistance against a werewolf pack shortly after they’d raised Lucifer.

And she’d been there when he’d lost Sam. Castiel had abandoned him, and Bobby did nothing but tell him to cut back on the drinking, to grieve and work on himself. Y/N… Y/N was simple. She didn’t demand anything of him except his companionship. They fought like cat and dog over her behavior, but he wouldn’t leave her. He couldn’t.

Not when he’d lost everyone and everything else.

And he wasn’t about to lose her.

She was breathing evenly now, her tremors stopping slowly. Dean watched her from his seat, before standing and grabbing the first aid kit from the bathroom. He had to do something to stop the bleeding, to help her. When he cleaned up her thigh, she didn’t move, and when he gently swabbed at her self-inflicted injuries, she still didn’t. A whimper left her lips when he started to stitch the wound from the ghoul again, but whatever she’d taken had knocked her out.

It was impossible to change the sheets underneath her, so he left her there, intending on coaxing her into a shower in the morning. Gathering the bottles and drugs from her bag, he dumped them all in the bin outside, intending on starting afresh the next morning.

They could move on. They could be better than this.

The next morning would be the start of something new. Dean would make sure of it.

*****

The next morning brought sickness, and Y/N spent most of the morning curled on her side, vomiting through the effects of her cocktail the night before. Dean left her only briefly to fetch food and water, noting with relief that the caretaker had emptied the bin outside, so she couldn’t get at what he’d thrown away. He’d confiscated her phone too - he didn’t know how she was always getting hold of things, but he couldn’t risk it.

The case was still waiting, and Dean knew he had to decide which was more important. Scanning the news as he waited in line at the store, he saw that there hadn’t been any fresh victims - it looked like the spirit was confined to an old boarding house that the girls had all gone into following a dare. The police had it cordoned off, which bought them a little time.

“What’s the betting the bones are in there?” he huffed, earning himself a strange look from the cashier.

Returning to the motel room, he found Y/N in the bath, naked and drowsy. Her injuries hadn’t opened up again, but she barely acknowledged him as he walked in.

“Y/N?”

She blinked, like she’d come out of a trance, looking up at him with tired eyes. “Where’d you go?”

“Food,” Dean replied, shrugging. “How are you feeling?”

A yawn broke her reply, and she chewed around it, shaking her head. “Like shit. We got anything to drink?”

“Water.” The look on her face was one that could probably have put down the hordes of hell and more besides, but Dean wasn’t breaking his resolve now. “It’s water or nothing, sweetheart.”

“You cuttin’ me off?” she quipped, obviously not taking him seriously.

He shook his head, kneeling at the side of the tub, running his fingers over her bare forearm. “We need to stop this.”

“Stop what?” Her question was so innocent, she might have believed she wasn’t doing anything wrong.

“Destroying ourselves,” Dean said softly, pinpointing the exact moment her entire world fell apart, her expression crumbling into despair. “Baby, we’re… we’re doing nothing good here. Half the hunts we’ve gone through, we’ve only survived on blind luck. The drinking, the drugs…” He shook his head. “I can’t do this anymore. I promised Sam I’d live.”

“I didn’t promise Sam anything,” she whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. “I don’t want…” For a moment, he thought she might say live, and his heart pounded so hard, it felt like it would break. “I don’t want to feel those things.”

Dean frowned, reaching forward to press two fingers under her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Feel what, sweetheart?” A shudder seized her, and she pulled away, closing herself off again. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” he murmured, but she was pressing herself into the tiled wall, refusing to meet his gaze. “Y/N -”

“Leave me alone.” Her request was low and practically mumbled, and he sighed, standing up. He’d leave her be for now, but eventually, she’d have to get out of the tub.

Three hours later, she was asleep again, and Dean changed the sheets on the bed, stealing fresh ones from the maid’s cart two doors down. Without waking Y/N, he emptied the cold water and lifted her from the tub, redressed her wounds, laying her down to sleep in the freshly made bed, tucking the covers around her. Standing straight, he felt a little bit lost, and realized that his usual go-to activity was drinking.

He could hunt instead, but leaving her alone wasn’t something he wanted to do right now. The ghost needed to be taken care of, and Dean was left with little option other than to call Bobby.

“You take care of that spook yet?” the old man barked, when he’d barely even answered the phone.

“You gotta send someone else,” Dean replied, keeping his voice low. “Y/N is sick.”

“So leave her with a bucket and get your ass to workin’.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how he was supposed to explain everything. “She got hurt, Bobby. On the last hunt.” Silence on the other end. “She’s been… we’ve both… look, Bobby, you were right. About this path of destruction we’ve both been sitting on.” Bobby still didn’t say anything. “I threw it all out. But Y/N’s been… she’s been…”

“I got ya,” Bobby finally said, sighing down the end of the phone. “I’ll get someone else up there. You take care o’her, and if you need a bolt hole -”

“You’re there. I know. But I think, she just needs me. If I can get her through this, maybe we could make something of it. Like,” he sucked in a breath before continuing, “like Sam wanted.”

The conversation ended and Dean sat in silence, watching her sleep, the blankets covering her rising and falling in time with her steady breaths. Her skin was paler than it should have been, and he hated the marks on her. His fingerprints were a shallow blue tinged with yellow on her neck, and guilt assaulted him at the thought of losing control again.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but his ass was numb, and his back hurt from the wooden slats of the chair. With a groan of pain, he moved into the bathroom, showering as quickly as he could, relieved to find her unmoved when he returned to the room. Pulling on a pair of sweats, he crawled into bed behind her, smiling when she instinctively curled into him, tucking her head under his chin.

He could fix this. He could help both of them. Somehow, they’d make this better.

*****

Moving on from Illinois, Dean rented them a place to stay in the middle of nowhere. The isolated farmhouse was away from any major cities - the only populated place was ten miles away with less than a thousand residents. Y/N was struggling, the withdrawal hitting her harder than him, but then, he’d only been an alcoholic.

Within a week of going cold turkey, she was already looking better, but her mood hadn’t lifted. She was often confrontational and violent, and Dean had spent too many nights talking her down, only to have her sobbing in his arms by the end of it.

The only way he’d found out about her past, was through nightmares that had her awake and screaming. One name caught his attention and it was one he knew all too well. Alastair. His own personal tormentor, the one he’d put down so long ago. No wonder he’d felt a connection to Y/N, if she’d lived under the same demon’s tutelage.

Except she hadn’t been his pupil. She’d been his plaything while he’d been loose on Earth, which was Dean’s fault anyway, and tripled his guilt for everything she’d been through. Alastair had murdered her brother, a fellow hunter, and taken her to keep for his own amusement.

Dean didn’t know how she’d escaped. She wouldn’t talk about it when she was awake. But some of the scars she carried were not made by her own hand or any other monsters - Alastair had made sure she’d remember him in the worst ways possible.

After the third night, when he’d gone for supplies, he’d come home and found Y/N in the back yard, a small pairing knife in her hand as she carved shapes into her forearm. Eventually, he had to remove anything sharp in the house, locking it in Baby’s trunk and keeping the keys on him. He’d even removed the spark plugs from his precious car, just to stop Y/N from hot wiring it and taking off. Dean was terrified she’d hurt herself more than she could recover from.

A storm hit, two weeks into their stay at the farmhouse, and the thunder was so bad, it made the entire house shake. Y/N had bolted from the bed, naked as the day she was born, and before Dean could stop her, she was outside in the pouring rain, dancing in the mud.

She was laughing.

He didn’t stop her. Not when she was more like the Y/N he’d first met in such a long time. Free spirited, and  _ alive _ .

When the rain died down, she turned to him, beckoning him closer, and Dean had hesitantly joined her, not enjoying the feel of mud squelching between his toes. Y/N laughed at him, practically jumping into his arms as soon as he was close enough, kissing him for the first time in weeks. Droplets of water hung from her hair, coating her skin, and Dean smiled, seeing light in her eyes.

She was recovering.

They both were.

“Make love to me, Dean,” she whispered, and there was no way he could refuse. Carrying her inside, they didn’t even make it as far as the bedroom, ending up on the living room floor, a tangle of arms and legs as he pushed his sweats off, spreading her thighs to dip his fingers into her heat. She came apart on his fingers in seconds, mewling and begging him for more. 

When they were finished, Dean pulled her close, watching the lightning flash across the sky as she snuggled into him.

“I wouldn’t be here with anyone but you.” Her words were almost drowned out by the storm, but Dean heard them clearly enough, kissing the back of her neck softly. It would hurt in the morning when they woke up on the hard floor, but he finally felt like they were moving forward.

Three weeks later, she wanted to hunt again. Dean was dubious, but he didn’t pick a fight about it like he would have before. They talked it out, and he agreed to a simple case, calling Bobby for anything he might have. The older hunter was glad to hear from him, even happier that they were both doing well, and both finally moving on from the grief they’d suffered.

“I’ve got a salt and burn in Tampa,” he suggested, and Dean frowned.

“Florida?”

“I know it’s a bit of a long drive, but maybe you could see the sights.” The younger man considered his elder’s words, looking over where Y/N was cleaning her guns. She smiled brightly at him, and Dean decided the trip might do them good if they stuck to less populated areas. It had pretty much been just him and her for the last couple of months, in the middle of nowhere.

Part of him was worried that leaving their sanctuary might be too much for her.

“Wait, no, there’s another hunter dealing with that,” Bobby interrupted his thoughts, and Dean sighed. “How about…” There was rustling in the background of the call. “I got a salt and burn in Saltash, Washington. That’s a day’s drive from you.”

“Sounds good,” Dean accepted, finishing the call and hanging up. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

Y/N shrugged. “Hunting’s what I’ve always done, Dean. Just like you. If I’m gonna head this off, I need to be my kind of normal.” He nodded, moving closer to her, dropping a kiss to her hair, and Y/N leaned into him for a split second. The words were never spoken between them, but she knew he loved her, and he hoped she loved him.

The next day, Dean started up the Impala with Y/N in the front seat, looking like an entirely different woman than she had been when she’d last sat in that spot. It had taken a long time to get used to seeing her rather than Sammy, and the alcohol had probably helped that. But now, she looked at home, like she belonged there.

She was quiet on the drive, but not uncomfortably so. It was like she was seeing the world from a fresh perspective, and it made him feel a little better about his own. Without even thinking, he reached over several times to squeeze her hand where it was resting on her knee, and it was rewarded by her secret smiles to herself.

It was raining when they crossed the border into Washington, and they were both exhausted. Dean had almost run the Impala off the road at one point, when the driver of a sleek black sports car had gone past them at three times the speed limit, tinted windows reflecting Dean’s projected rage. Y/N had to calm him, assuring him that whatever asshole it was would probably crash and seriously hurt himself before long.

Finding a motel proved a little more difficult than they thought when they drove slowly in Saltash. It was a small town, and only one hotel had a vacancy sign. As they pulling into the parking lot, Y/N noticed the shiny black car from earlier, and tapped Dean’s arm, pointing to it.

“Oh man, I am gonna give him a piece of my mind,” Dean growled, climbing out of the car, and Y/N stayed where she was, watching the black car in case the owner returned. When Dean tapped on her window, she jumped, before opening the door to glare at him. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he apologized with a smile, and Y/N relaxed a little. “Twenty bucks extra and I now know Mr Asshole is in room six. Wanna come watch me kick his ass?”

“Dean, getting arrested probably isn’t a good start back at it,” Y/N pointed out, standing up. “How about we just shout at him a little?”

Dean chuckled, pulling her into a soft kiss, cupping her cheek as he did. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she felt a ridiculously overwhelming urge to lift her foot off the ground at his touch. “Let’s do that.”

Room 6 was lit only by a single lamp as they approached, and Dean frowned as he saw salt under the door. Y/N knocked just underneath the big golden “6” before he could say anything, and when she glanced over at him, the door opened, and his jaw went slack. She frowned, turning back, stumbling a few feet at the sight before her.

Sam smirked, looking at both of them. “I thought that was you I passed on the highway.”

*****

“So you’re alive,” Dean repeated, as Y/N sat in the corner, away from both of them, staring at the formerly dead younger Winchester with confusion. Sam didn’t seem in the least bit fazed by their presence, or by the fact that he was alive. “For the last year… you’ve been alive.”

He shook his head, standing up from the chair he was sat in, and Y/N stiffened as the mood in the room shifted to anger.

“What the hell, man!”

Sam shrugged, not moving from his spot on the bed, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “We thought it was best.”

“We?” Dean demanded, and Sam nodded.

“Me and Bobby.”

The elder brother exploded at that. “Bobby knew? And he didn’t tell me?”

“I asked him not to. I mean, I didn’t exactly ask where you were,” Sam explained, his tone neutral, like he was going through the motions. Y/N watched him carefully, unused to this robotic, almost emotionless Sam. Had he been twisted by hell like Dean had been? Like she’d glimpsed. “You were alive, and you had Y/N. Bobby said you guys had holed up somewhere for a little while.”

“And you what? Didn’t want to be third wheel?” Dean asked, and Sam’s eyes slid to Y/N, focusing on her for a moment, his lips twitching upwards in the slightest movement.

“Something like that.” The younger man stood up, his demeanor changing in a split second. “But hey, now we’re here, how about we go and hunt that ghost? Like old times.” Dean blinked at him, not understanding this stranger, wearing his brother. He wasn’t possessed, wasn’t a shapeshifter… he was Sam but sharper, more on edge, more calculating.

But Dean stopped questioning it further. Sam was alive - he had to focus on the important thing. Of course hell was going to change him. Even five minutes in the cage with Lucifer would change anyone, and Sam had died to save the world. Died to save him and Y/N, and they’d nearly fucked it all up. Dean had no right to question it.

So they started hunting again, together, the three of them. Y/N was hesitant at first, and Dean didn’t want to push her, but Sam managed to get her back into the spirit. For a few weeks, everything seemed to be back to normal, except for Sam’s odd behavior. 

When Crowley arrived on the scene, Y/N had become a little more withdrawn. She slept more, and the nightmares came back, but when he asked if she was okay, she’d given him that bright smile, simply saying it was just working with demons. Dean let it go, like he was doing with so many other things.

Until one morning, when Y/N and Sam went to get breakfast ahead of him and Dean found fresh blood on the sheets of the bed he’d shared with her. Admittedly, it had been a few weeks since they’d been intimate, and he hadn’t pushed it. But she hadn’t been hurt on the hunt, and blood usually meant an injury in their line of work.

He stripped the bed, walking out of the motel room to find the maid and ask for fresh ones, when he heard noises coming from Sam’s room. It was quiet, muffled, but he frowned, pulling his gun from the waistband of his pants. Gripping the door handle, he turned it, opening the door to something he’d never be able to forget.

She was splayed out naked on the motel room bed, her hands cuffed to the headboard, purposefully pulled away from the wall. Her mouth was stuffed with a makeshift gag of the black lace panties she’d bought at the last Walmart stop. Her legs were in the air, and there were fresh cuts down her sides, her thighs and under her breasts.

And his brother was fucking into her as he held her legs, sweat dripping off of the end of his nose as his hips stuttered and Dean had to witness him coming inside the woman he loved. Y/N screamed as Sam’s fingers dug into her wounds, not seeing him, and Dean backed away, leaving the door wide open as Sam turned his head to smile at the empty doorway.

Vomit burned his throat as Dean emptied his stomach into the grass of the park behind the motel, and he had to hold himself back from crying. He wasn’t sure if was the fact that his brother was fucking her that made him sick, or the sight of her body so battered and bruised like a toy.

Footsteps across the paving stones made him look up, and Sam smirked as he approached. “I don’t wanna make this awkward,” he started, and Dean went ramrod straight, fixing his eyes on Sam like he was the enemy.

“What did you do to her?” He spoke through gritted teeth, the anger making him curl his fists at his sides. “You were hurting her.”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “She can’t feel it. She likes it. When she’s high anyway. She’s not so much fun sober.”

Dean’s jaw dropped, and he stared at Sam as if the other man had grown an extra head. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded. “She was your friend. You knew she was recovering. Hell, I thought you were being insensitive when you offered me a drink the other night, but this? Sam, this is wrong.”

“Well, you two are no fun without the added extras. You’re a straight up citizen without a shot or two of whiskey, and it’s been boring. At least Y/N was easy to coax around. Spiked her drink the first time, while you were casing that Rugaru family that I lied to you about.” The smile on Sam’s face made Dean want to kill him with his bare hands, but right now, he was more concerned about what Sam had done to Y/N.

“What did you give her?” Sam shrugged, and Dean’s eyes went wide. “You don’t even fucking know?!”

“That’s half the fun.”

A scream split the air, and Dean bolted, running straight past his grinning brother, heading for the motel room where he’d left Y/N. She was still cuffed to the bed, her back arched and her body covered in sweat. She was writhing and screaming for help. Dean grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her, desperate for her to wake up. “Sweetheart, Y/N, come on -”

The tremors started small, and her body convulsed, sending him into a panic. She was foaming at the mouth now, and Dean knew he had to get her to a hospital.

“Goddamn you, Sam,” he shouted, not even caring where his brother gone. Spotting the cuff keys on the side table, Dean snatched them up, freeing Y/N and hoisting her into his arms, using the sheet to protect her modesty as he got her into the Impala and sped off, hoping to God he wasn’t too late.

*****

It was the middle of the night when they finally let Dean into her room, where she was sleeping. They’d pumped her stomach, and attached her to all sorts of machines, and she was stable, working whatever it was Sam had given her out of her system. He’d been questioned by the police about the markings, obviously suspected of something, but he’d said that she was a self-harmer and she’d relapsed without telling him.

They wanted to talk to her when she woke up, but Dean wasn’t sure he’d let her stick around that long. He wanted to take her home, back to the farmhouse. 

He wanted to drink, if he was honest with himself.

There was no telling how much coffee he’d actually drunk that day, but he was still awake at 5am, when her eyes flickered and she sucked in a breath by herself, eyes opening wide. The alarms went off, and doctors rushed in, nurses dragging carts. Dean found himself pushed back to the door as they took over, removing tubes and speaking to her.

When they finally left, Y/N was wide awake and sitting up, and she stared at him with watery eyes when he walked back to her side. “I’m sorry,” she rasped, her throat raw. “I didn’t… I never wanted to hurt you.”

“This is on Sam,” Dean whispered, taking her hand, mindful of the IV that was embedded in her vein. “And me. I should… we shouldn’t have hunted so soon.”

“I was weak,” she admitted, tears falling from her thick lashes. “And I let him… I let him do things to me. He said I was… I was a toy…” The sobs came then, breaking off her speech, and Dean stood, leaning over her to hold her close as she cried. He knew what she was thinking - everything had started the first time with a monster torturing her for his own pleasure and now, it seemed Sam had done the same thing.

There was something wrong with his brother.

Y/N fell asleep again, her body craving rest as she worked through withdrawal once again. Dean fully intended on taking her back to the farmhouse, as soon as she was well enough, but he had something else to deal with.

Dialling Bobby, he spoke lowly into the phone, leaning against the wall outside the hospital. “There’s something seriously wrong with Sam.”

*****

Sam was Sam. But he had no soul.

It had been baffling to Dean, that his baby brother was walking around with no moral compass, when he’d always been the most moral person Dean knew. But it explained his behavior, and explained the way he’d treated Y/N.

Of course, he’d had to choose. To help his brother, or help Y/N. Probably one of the hardest decisions he’d had to make, and in the end, Y/N made it for him. She would go to the farmhouse alone, checking in via phone. That was home to her, their space, and she’d feel safe enough there.

Dean shouldn’t have trusted her.

He made a deal with Death to get Sam’s soul back. Be the reaper for a day, and he’d learned his lesson thoroughly. Reaping the girl had been the sucker punch he hadn’t wanted, and just as he thought he was done, Death appeared to him, instructing him to take one more life. Tessa took his arm, and with a sad look on her face, flicking them through reality to a place he really wished he didn’t recognize.

“No.”

One word stolen on the wind as he looked up at their place, their house surrounded by fields, where he’d saved her and she’d saved him. Where they’d built something, maybe not normal, but something of substance. Where they’d fought their demons, their addictions, and forged themselves new.

“Tell me this is a joke.”

Tessa didn’t reply, and Dean started to walk forward, stepping on the porch, feeling it creak under his weight. There was blood on the doorframe, a handprint staining the carpet in the hallway. The angel hung back, watching him move slowly into the house. 

Everything was smashed, destroyed - the wardings had meant nothing to the invaders, and she’d never stood a chance. He heard soft, fast breaths from the living room, and knew she was in there.

His knees gave way as he reached her side, and he pulled the ring off, disobeying once more so he could touch her face. Y/N smiled up at him with blood on the corner of her mouth, and bite marks littering her throat, chest and arms through her ripped clothing. The vampires they’d faced down with weeks before, when he’d come close to being turned - they must have followed her back here.

“No, no, no,” he chanted in a whisper, taking her hand in his own, kissing her bloodied knuckles. She’d fought. Of course she’d fought.

“I tried,” she whispered, swallowing the blood in her mouth down, and her throat flexed painfully. “There… there were too many.” Her eyes shut for a second, possibly the longest second of her life, and Dean’s heart almost stopped. “Did you save Sam?”

She was dying for nothing. He hadn’t saved Sam. He’d broken the rules, and now he’d lost her too. “I did,” he lied. She didn’t need to know the truth. “He’s gonna be fine. And so are you.”

Y/N’s smile faded as she coughed. “You could always lie, Dean. Just not to me.”

Tears accompanied his mirthless laughter, and Y/N managed to squeeze his fingers. “I can save you,” he insisted, his other hand cupping her face. “Y/N, please -”

Tessa appeared behind him, touching his shoulder gently. “Dean… we’re running out of time.”

“I can’t,” he admitted, shaking his head. “This is too much. Please, save her.”

“That’s not the natural order,” the angel replied, and Dean closed his eyes, shaking his head as he clung to Y/N’s freezing hand. “It’s her time.”

“Dean, it’s okay,” Y/N murmured, her eyes a little glazed as she looked upwards. “I’m okay with it. If it’s my time… I’m glad I didn’t have to spend the time I with anyone but you.” She smiled, and Dean could feel it, through whatever Death had done to make him capable of his job, that she was slipping away from him, no matter how tightly he held on.

“I love you.” It was a last chance, the only chance, but her heart stopped before he finished. He cried out, pulling her close, holding her tightly as if he could will the life back into her. For so long his legs went numb, he sat with her cooling body, unwilling to leave her side until his angel companion touched his shoulder again.

“Put the ring back on,” Tessa whispered, and held it out to him. Dean stared at it, before accepting it, and he placed it on his finger. Almost instantly, the world shifted and he was staring at Y/N, her physical form no longer needed. “You can say goodbye,” Tessa said, stepping back.

“I love you too,” Y/N said, moving closer to him. In the astral plane, he could touch her, and Dean drew her close for a kiss that he never wanted to end. “I heard it,” she assured him. “Thank you.”

“How do I carry on without you?” he asked, keeping hold of her.

“Fix Sam,” she insisted, smiling at him. “And when it’s time…” she glanced at Tessa, who offered her a nod of affirmation, “you’ll come home to me.” Pushing up on tiptoes, Y/N kissed his forehead, before pulling away, freeing herself from his tight hold. Tessa placed a hand on her shoulder, and she smiled at him one last time, before she was gone.

*****

Ten years.

She’d been waiting, and watching, spending day after day on the porch of the farmhouse, staring at the forever blue sky. It was difficult to say what she wanted most - Dean alive and not with her, or dead, and with her for eternity. In truth, she’d been expecting him for a while now.

When night fell in her corner of heaven, she went to bed, and when daylight returned, she occupied herself with all of her favorite things. Heaven was exactly as it was described - her personal little world, where she could interact with her memories. Nothing died, the world flourished…

And she was completely alone.

Ten years went too slowly.

It may have been a Wednesday when she heard it, but heaven didn’t really have a concept of time, and it was possible that every day was the same day. Nothing ever changed. But this sound… this sound was new and old and made her heart skip a beat.

Baby rolled up the driveway, black paintwork sparkling in the sunlight, and Y/N rushed down the porch steps, drawing to a halt in the dirt driveway as the driver’s side door opened. Dean’s head popped up, and she covered her mouth, almost shrieking with excitement.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, shutting the car door. “I’m home.”

 


End file.
